


august (and everything after)

by orphan_account



Category: Guns N' Roses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:13:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21678805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: axl really, really regrets not writing his number on slash's cup.
Relationships: Axl Rose/Slash | Saul Hudson, Duff McKagan/Izzy Stradlin
Comments: 11
Kudos: 58





	1. one

By the time Axl is finally able to catch his breath there’s already another four customers lined up, waiting. Today’s been busy, exceptionally busy, which Axl chalks up to the fact that it’s the tail end of August and school’s starting again but. Still. He brushes his hair back, a few loose strands sticking to his forehead, and plasters a (hopefully believable) smile on his face.

He tries his best not to sound utterly exhausted as he greets the teenage girl standing in front of him. Without even missing a beat, she’s rattling off her order, a “large decaf java chip frappucino with almond milk, add hazelnut, extra frap chips, two Splenda, whipped cream, extra caramel and a mocha drizzle inside the cup.”

She swipes her card as Axl turns to Izzy. “Good fuckin’ luck, Izz,” he mutters, quiet enough so it’s out of earshot.

Izzy gives him an eye-roll and a heavy sigh as soon as he reads the sticker. “Fuck me.”

With a laugh, Axl turns his attention back to the line and then groans internally when he sees it’s nearly doubled. If he’s being honest he wants to scream, fucking pull his hair out in frustration but he manages to keep his cool somehow. He’s never taking another slow day for granted again.

“What can I get for you?” He asks, smiles at the blonde in line. His voice sounds almost robotic, doesn’t sound like his own at all, and thankfully the next few orders aren’t as crazy as that last one was. 

Axl’s in the middle of finishing up a white mocha, the last drink in the afternoon’s sudden rush, right when the door’s pushed open again. Him and Izzy turn to face each other simultaneously, both wearing matching frowns. Axl can feel his eyes slowly glazing over and he still has a few more hours to go before his shift is done. He lets out a low groan through his teeth and Izzy nods, mumbles something about needing a drink. Axl can second that.

He fits a plastic lid on the mocha then rushes to the register, grabbing a Sharpie on his way over and—Holy fuck that guy’s cute.

“Can I get a…” He pauses. His eyes dart up to the hanging menu as he rakes a hand through his glossy curls. Axl doesn’t realize he’s staring until he speaks up again. “Can I get an iced caramel macchiato please?”

“Sure, darlin’, can I get a name for that?” And oh shit, Axl bites down on his lip as hard as he can because there’s no way he just called him _darling_ -

He can feel his cheeks flushing scarlet, the tops of his ears burning a pale pink.

Izzy’s not gonna let him hear the end of this.

“Slash,” he says, and his voice is barely above a whisper but fuck if it isn’t sweeter than any goddamn drink on the menu. Axl swipes his card in a daze, half cursing himself for blushing so easy, half wanting to hear Slash’s voice again and again. He goes to hand the cup over to Izzy and sees that Izzy’s in stitches, struggling to hold in his laughter. _Fuck_.

“So, darlin’,” Izzy drawls, opening a carton of milk, and Axl fights the sudden urge to elbow his best friend in the ribs real hard.

“Fuck off,” he grits his teeth. He stares up at the ceiling, “You’re not fuckin’ funny, asshole.”

“Gonna ask him out?”

“No,” is Axl’s immediate response. The blush on his cheeks only darkens.

Izzy tops off Slash’s drink while Axl grabs a straw. And then he glares daggers at Izzy when Izzy grins and jokingly asks if he should write Axl’s number on the side of the cup, wishing the ground would just fucking swallow him up. He could really go for that drink right about now, he thinks, as he slides Slash’s finished macchiato ( _without_ his number written on the cup, thank you very much) across the pick-up counter.

His eyes might’ve lingered on Slash for, admittedly, a little too long after he walked out the door.

/

“I shoulda written my number on his cup,” Axl sort of laughs, sort of groans, lips wrapped around the edges of a vodka bottle. He coughs as the liquid rushes down his throat, turning him into a spluttery mess. He coughs again, hard, and with a dejected sigh, he sets the bottle down. “I’m such a fucking idiot, Izz. Sucha idiot.”

He folds his arms over his knees. Pouts dramatically. Then he reaches for what’s left of the vodka, which… Isn’t much.

“Slow down, Axe.” Izzy sparks up the first of many cigarettes, tucking it loosely between his lips. He makes it a point to look at the nearly empty bottle then back to Axl, adding on, “You’re gonna have an awful fuckin’ hangover tomorrow and you’re gonna fuck up someone’s drink and I’m gonna laugh at you.”

“Dick,” Axl mumbles, but he pushes the bottle aside anyway. Izzy’s probably right and working with a hangover is no fun.

“Not to tell you I told you so, but… I told you so,” Izzy slings an arm around Axl’s shoulders, comforting despite him being a smart-ass and Axl lets his eyes close and leans his head on Izzy’s bony shoulder. He falls asleep listening to Izzy exhale clouds of smoke into their empty apartment, head swimming.

Morning comes too fast and Axl’s greeted by bright sunlight pouring in from behind the sorry excuse for curtains they’ve got tacked to the walls, printing patterns on the dull carpet. He groans and moves his arm to cover his eyes and rolls over so that his face is buried in the couch cushions. He needs five more minutes.

It’s the first of September, and it’s also a Saturday which means Axl works until close tonight. Reluctantly, he drags himself from the couch, stumbles over to the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee or two and maybe grab a handful of painkillers while he’s at it. Turns out Izzy _was_ right, he’s got an awful fuckin’ hangover and he’s probably gonna fuck some poor customer’s drink up, and Izzy’s gonna laugh at him.

When he makes it to work and clocks in, he curses under his breath after he realizes his apron’s still got that big ass stain on it from yesterday, when he was too busy daydreaming about Slash to notice that he’d accidentally poured the contents of a mocha frap all over himself. He frantically throws it in the wash and settles for grabbing Duff’s today. It’s his day off, Axl rationalizes, he’s sure Duff won’t mind.

It’s already busy which Axl kinda expected, _but_ that doesn’t mean he won’t complain about it to Izzy, though.

“Why the fuck are there so many people here at,” Axl huffs, then checks the time and glares at the annoyingly long line of customers, “Three-thirty in the afternoon? Fucking go home!”

Izzy laughs. “Complaining isn’t gonna help any, Axe.”

Axl presses his lips into a frown and silently watches as Izzy adds a mountain of whipped cream on top of a vanilla bean frap.

“Look who’s next in line,” Izzy says, complete with raised brows and a smirk. Whirling around, Axl sees that, oh shit, it’s Slash. Slash is standing there in a Rolling Stones tee and a leather jacket, aviators hooked on the neckline of his shirt, and Axl can’t hide the blush on his cheeks when he takes Slash’s order.

“Slash, right?” Axl asks, feigning nonchalance and pretending like Slash hasn’t been on his mind ever since yesterday afternoon.

Slash gives him a nod, easy. “Yeah, and you’re—” He looks at the worn name tag on Axl’s apron, which Axl just now remembers _isn’t his_.“Duff?”

“Uh… Axl, actually, Duff’s my coworker, I’m just borrowing his apron…” Axl explains. His heart skips a beat when Slash smiles at him. And then he panics, and blurts, “I’ll have this out for you in a second.”

Slash sits at a table that’s tucked in the back corner and Axl can’t take his eyes off of him.

“For fuck’s sake, Rose. Just ask him out already,” Izzy slinks up behind him and hands Axl the iced caramel macchiato he’s just finished, interrupting Axl’s gushing over how hot that outfit of Slash’s is. “Instead of staring at him like—”

Axl isn’t gonna bother responding to that. Instead he busies himself with wiping down the sticky countertops, head low mainly so Izzy doesn’t see how hard he’s blushing again.

He doesn’t end up asking Slash out, for the record. He feels like kicking himself for it.

/

The next few days pass in a blur, and suddenly it’s the end of the first week of September and Slash is nowhere to be seen and Axl’s _really_ hating himself for not being able to work up the fucking courage to talk to him.

Him and Izzy are alone in the shop, and there’s thirty minutes ‘till close, and instead of cleaning the syrup pumps like he’s supposed to be doing, Axl is leaning an arm against the counter, fingers digging into his cheek, and pouting. 

He hardly catches the sound of the door opening. “—Fucking wish I wasn’t such a little bitch, Izz, I fuckin’ blew my chance,” Axl continues, voice pitchy.

“Uh, Axl,” Izzy nods at the register and then makes a beeline for the back room, leaving Axl alone with…

… Slash.

Suddenly Axl’s left wishing he was anywhere else but here because, knowing his shitty luck, Slash probably just overheard his entire conversation with Izzy.

“Hi,” he eventually says, hoping Slash doesn’t notice how shaky his words are, “What can I get for ya, an iced caramel macchiato?” 

Slash nods and Axl hurries to make his drink, occasionally pausing to shoot glares at Izzy who’s no doubt enjoying the hell out of this in the back, peeking out from behind the window. 

He pulls the cap off a marker once he’s done, debating whether or not he should write his number on the cup and… 

He fucking doesn’t. Another blown chance. 

He hands Slash his drink, gives him a small smile, and watches as Slash tears the paper wrapper off a straw. 

“Um, thank you,” Slash says right before he leaves, returning Axl’s smile. He sips his drink, slow, and all Axl can concentrate on are his damn lips around that damn straw. “This is really good. See you around?” 

Axl freezes. “Yeah, yeah, of course,” he says after a while, and that’s the end of it. Slash is gone and the sun has long since set in the sky, leaving trails of fiery orange in its wake but it’s September and it’s still warm out. 

The back door squeaks as Izzy pushes it open. Axl can’t quite read the look on his best friend’s face. 

“I love ya, Axe, I do. But you… Are a fucking idiot.”


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> axl is still a nervous wreck but hey, he ends up giving slash his number at least. also, izzy burns pancakes.

Duff has a tattoo of a rose and two revolvers on his upper arm. Axl knows this because it’s all Izzy’s been talking about for the past ten minutes, nonstop, and if Axl doesn’t get some alcohol in his system soon, he thinks he’s gonna go clinically insane.

“Hey, Izz,” he cuts in. “Why don’t you just ask him out?”

He leans into their couch with a smug smirk, watches as Izzy’s expression changes.

“I’ll ask him out when you ask out Slash.” Izzy fires back with an arched brow, and oh hell no. Honestly, he should’ve seen that coming, but…

“Not happenin’.” Axl says, firm. And before he even has a chance to think, Izzy launches a throw pillow at him and it hits him square in the face. He gives Izzy a look and then flips him off too, just for good measure, but he also can’t stop laughing. “Asshole.”

Izzy only presses it further. “C’mon, Axe. You shoulda seen the way he was lookin’ at you. It was cute.”

“So… Duff’s tattoo,” Axl ducks his head, cheeks flushed as he lets his voice trail off, and where the _hell_ is the vodka when you need it? He springs up, leaving Izzy alone in the living room and then walks to their tiny kitchen. The fridge is empty, as it usually is, save for half a box of old pizza (that really should’ve been thrown away by now) and some cheap beer.

He’ll settle for it, although he had never really liked the taste of beer. They really need to stop at the little convenience store across the street. _Tomorrow morning…_

And so Axl slams the top of the bottle against the kitchen counter, causing the cap to fly off and hit the oven behind him, loudly clattering to the tiled floor.

It’s kinda late but not really, nearing ten p.m. He’s closing tomorrow and he doesn’t have to be in until four anyway… so he can afford another drink after this one, right? He grabs two.

Izzy’s strumming some little tune on his guitar when Axl sits back down on the couch, insides feeling all fuzzy and his head spinning from the half a bottle he’s drank. He licks his lips, absent-minded. Hums along to the music as it quietly fades into the background, dissipating, and then before he knows it, he’s out cold. Just like that.

He wakes up the next morning with Slash on his mind, funny enough, and… Something is _definitely_ burning in the kitchen. With a long, drawn-out groan, Axl pulls himself from his spot on the couch, frown firmly in place on his lips.

“Izzy, what the fuck are you doing?” Axl runs a hand through his hair, still half-asleep. His feet drag behind him and it takes a little while for his eyes to adjust to the white light that’s flooding in from the open window. “It’s too early for this shit.”

Izzy whirls around, spatula in hand. Axl watches the batter slowly slide off and then splatter onto the floor. “Making pancakes? And it’s…” Izzy pauses, furrows his eyebrows and squints, “11:30.”

“Man, don’t tell me you burnt the fucking—remember last time?” Axl asks, and he is really, really, really trying to hide the grin that’s now lighting up his face. But hell if he’s able to… _Axl Rose_ has never been particularly good at hiding his emotions and right now isn’t any exception.

Hanging his head low, Izzy mutters out, “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Here, let me.” Axl doesn’t wait for Izzy’s response, just grabs the spatula and the bowl of pancake mix and tells Izzy to _go sit down._

Axl, surprisingly, is a good cook. Well. Decent, at least.

… Okay. He’s better than Izzy. Which really isn’t saying much, but it’s something. As the pancakes sizzle on the stovetop, Axl makes himself a cup of coffee and then pauses to add a generous splash of Jack to it.

“Um… Axl?” Izzy starts.

Axl mumbles some sort of reply, taking a big sip of his coffee.

“Your pancakes are burning.”

Axl glances over at the stove and he realizes yeah, Izzy’s right. “Motherfucker!”

He sighs and then scraps them.

/

Axl’s sitting at the kitchen table, phone in his hand, watching the minutes pass by. He’s got ten minutes until he’s gotta leave for work and he’s trying to enjoy them. Friday nights are always fucking _ridiculous_ and quite honestly, he’s dreading going in.

Izzy walks out, dressed in his signature heavy black boots and his denim jacket, and he plops down next to Axl. A pack of Marlboro Reds sticks out of his pocket.

“Did you—” Axl stares at him. “Did you… fucking try to straighten your hair?”

“Uh…” Izzy not-so-subtly pretends to check a nonexistent text, avoiding Axl’s eyes and staring down at his phone screen ‘till it’s time for them to go.

Fucker totally straightened his hair.

Taking his place behind the counter, Axl throws his apron on and loosely ties the strings into a bow behind his back. It isn’t too crowded right now, only a few customers in line… Although twenty bucks says that’s gonna change real fast, Axl thinks.

The first thing Axl does is make himself a cold brew. He feels like the walking dead, despite getting up later than he usually does this morning. He’s definitely not ready to deal with anyone until he’s finished at least half of his drink, so when Nikki, one of their newer baristas, knocks over a large iced caramel latte Axl quickly looks away, pretends like he didn’t see it happen. Izzy can take care of that.

Duff storms in twenty minutes late, muttering something about how his “fucking piece of shit car wouldn’t start,” and then makes a beeline for the back. Izzy frowns, leans the mop he’s holding upright against the wall, and follows him. Axl’s left alone with Nikki.

(Which means he might as well be out here all by himself.)

Nikki doesn’t talk much so Axl listens to whatever’s playing on the radio, some Nirvana song. It’s not long before the door’s pushed open.

He instantly drops what he’s doing every single time, glancing up and hoping to see dark curls and a killer smile and ripped jeans paired with graphic tees but. No such luck. And he tries his hardest to hide the disappointed frown on his lips, the dejected tone in his voice each time he takes yet another order that _isn’t Slash’s._

“So,” Duff appears out of nowhere, Izzy trailing close behind him. He’s looking much happier than he did ten minutes ago, Axl notices. “A little birdie told me you’ve got a crush…”

Axl makes a mental note to, uh, accidentally spill coffee on Izzy later.

“I do not,” he protests. “Shut up!”

“Slash, huh?” Duff shoots him a wink.

Axl really, really wants to punch both Duff _and_ Izzy but he needs this job, he reasons, taking a deep breath in, because he’d get fired in a heartbeat if management ever happened to witness that.

“Someone’s waiting at the drive-thru, dumbass,” he whispers (instead of decking them both which he’d still prefer doing) and stifles a laugh at Duff’s suddenly panicked expression.

He turns his attention back to the register, glad this whole conversation’s over. He takes a couple orders, makes a few drinks, and before he knows it he’s zoning out again.

“Um, hi…” There’s a short pause, and then, “Can I get a large caramel frappuccino? Extra caramel?”

Axl lifts his eyes and takes in the bubbly blonde kid standing in front of him. Slash is right there at his side, all shy smiles and worn flannels because it’s September and it’s starting to cool down a bit.

“Of course,” Axl answers, reaching for an empty plastic cup before meeting his eyes with Slash’s. “And an iced caramel macchiato?”

Slash’s smile widens.

“Yeah, thank you,” he nods, voice quiet.

They both take a seat at the bar. Steven, the blonde, Axl learned, pulls his phone out and shows Slash something that causes him to throw his head back and laugh and laugh, shoving his shoulder too. Axl focuses on the drinks in front of him.

He slides them across the counter. “All yours.”

Steven beams at him, much like a kid in a candy shop, grabbing his drink and plunging a green straw through the lid. Then he nods in Slash’s direction and at the door too. “Ready?”

Slash hesitates. “Uh, you can go ahead, man. I’ll be out in a second.”

Steven does. And then it’s just Slash there by himself and Axl’s staring, he knows he is, but he just. Can’t. Look away.

“Can I get your number?” Slash eventually asks, and it catches Axl off guard. The Sharpie in his hand falls to the floor, and with an embarrassed smile, Axl scrambles to pick it up.

“Sure,” he says, hopes his voice doesn’t give away how fucking nervous he is.

/

The rest of Axl’s day seems to go by quicker. He can’t wipe the grin off his lips (and it remained in place even when he and everyone else got yelled at earlier by some woman who had demanded to “speak to the manager.”). 

“Did he text you yet?” Izzy asks.

Axl rolls his eyes, dramatic, and lifts a shoulder into a shrug. “I don’t know. I’m _working_ , unlike you, you fuckin’—”

He’s cut off by Duff, who’s walking out from the storage room with two unopened cartons of milk in his hands. “Did he text you yet?!”

“Are you two in fucking middle school? Jesus,” Axl hisses, checking the time to see how long he’s got until close (and how long he’s gotta deal with Duff and Izzy, too). 

The last ten minutes always seem to drag, to go by the _slowest_ for some unknown reason.

“Hey, Axe,” Izzy starts. “I’m gonna give Duff a ride home tonight.”

“Have fun,” Axl tacks a wink onto that, and he smirks when Izzy’s cheeks immediately redden.

Duff appears out of nowhere then, a leather jacket in place of his apron. He’s wearing a pair of glasses too, and his eyeliner had smudged a little underneath his green eyes. “Thanks for offering to give me a ride, Izz, you’re a life saver.”

Still smirking, Axl adds, “Yeah, Izz.”

Izzy twirls his car keys around his index finger. It’s quiet.

Axl yanks his apron off as well, and his face falls when he checks his phone and sees zero new text messages. He watches Izzy and Duff walk out together, shoulders brushing as they head towards Izzy’s shitty car.

He shuts the shop’s lights off with a frown. When he makes it home, he crawls into bed and spends a good thirty minutes staring up at his ceiling, mind going a hundred miles per minute.

And when he wakes up the next morning, it’s to an empty apartment and a text from an unknown number.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we love cliffhangers! 
> 
> also i don't know why i put nikki in here as a barista but i Did so :-)


End file.
